


i miss you better in the rain

by foxgloved



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/F, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Insomnia, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pre-Series, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6053026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxgloved/pseuds/foxgloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Isabelle Lightwood is seven, listening to the pour of the rain outside the Institute walls and distant claps of thunder beneath it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	i miss you better in the rain

**Author's Note:**

> tw for self-harm and blood, as well as brief implications of canonical abuse (emotional in isabelle's case, physical in jace's). theres also a mention of alecs feelings for jace, but thats really just passing and isn't a focal point or anything.
> 
> one of these days ill stop writing about how much i love isabelle lightwood but today is not that day
> 
> title from a sanober khan poem, maybe it doesnt rly fit but i couldnt think of anything else that did.

Isabelle Lightwood is seven, listening to the pour of the rain outside the Institute walls and distant claps of thunder beneath it. She shudders-- and she can't show such weakness at something so little, not when she's expected to face demons one day, and she knows this, but she can hardly help it when the thunder growls and roars. Her mother isn't there, off on some mission in Idris with Dad to check up on her pregnancy, or something (Isabelle hadn't been very old when they'd left and doesn't remember a thing about Idris, and she doesn't expect to see it anytime soon), and so she can't make her hot chocolate, but Isabelle doubts she'd do it anyways. Isabelle is only seven but sometimes she thinks people forget that, because she's a Shadowhunter and she's supposed to be strong. Powerful. A demon slayer.

Alec notices her in one of the main hallways. He's two years older than her and seems older than that still, a certain weight to his shoulders that Isabelle thinks is growing, and he sees her huddled beneath a pile of blankets and still shivering, and asks, “Hey, I was going to make hot chocolate. You want any, Izzy?” He's gentle with her in a way he isn't with anyone else, and treats her better than anyone else does. And he doesn't ask why she's up so late, doesn't tell her to get to bed.

Maybe he's bossy sometimes, but now she wonders if he'd been as scared of thunder as she was once. If he had gotten a caring hug and comforting words and a steaming cup of hot chocolate from Mom.

Isabelle wonders about a lot of things. She clings to one of the blankets as she stands, bare feet pressed against the cool marble tiles. “Yes,” she says, and shifts, feeling cold and insignificant in the large building. There are restricted rooms, the bedrooms, and here she is in a hallway outside her cozier room; she has to get used to discomfort early on, or at least that's what Mom says when she thinks she isn't listening.

“You wanna wait here while I make it, or--”

“No,” Isabelle is interrupting before he can finish, flushing with the rush of the word.

Maybe it is childish that she doesn't want to be alone with the thunder any longer-- but Alec simply nods, and smiles in reassurance. She follows him on tip-toes-- the sting of the cold tiles is easier to bear that way-- and wraps the blanket tighter around her shoulders, the soft fabric warming her bare arms. The fragrance of hot chocolate sifts through the kitchen, Alec making it in before her and she hovers just outside the door while he makes it, not peeking in no matter how bad she wants to.

He emerges after a long few moments, steam trailing up from the two cups he brings out with him, teetering slightly in his small shaking grip. The edges of his fingertips are red, the burns obvious against his pale skin, and Isabelle glances down before she takes one of the mugs, blowing on the top to cool it. Alec grins, a bit sheepish, at her.

“I guess I should've waited before I picked them up, right?” he asks, wiggling one of his hands at her.

Isabelle stifles a laugh and raises the mug to her lips, the warm and rich taste of the hot chocolate making her want to chug the entire mug; but she knows that would be a mistake. Knows from experience, actually-- her mother had sighed and drawn up a healing rune when she'd drunk a full cup of burning hot chocolate in three sips, and choked on the warmth in her throat.

“Thank you,” she says, in the silence that follows, falling quiet at the surprised look Alec gives her. Isabelle rubs the back of her neck and sets the mug down with a clatter on the nearest tabletop, leans over to wrap her arms around Alec's neck in a cautious hug. Shadowhunters don't hug-- or at least, they aren't supposed to, but Isabelle has seen lovers embrace in the Institute and family members give each other loving pats. “You're my favorite brother.”

“I'm your only brother. For now, at least.” Alec pats her, somewhat awkwardly, on the back, and squeezes back for a moment before he peels away. “Night, Izzy,” he says, and heads back down the hall, hot chocolate still tight in his grasp and knuckles bruised with pink from clinging to the handle.

“Goodnight, Alec,” Isabelle says even when she knows he is long gone. She picks her mug back up and takes a few more sips, settling down in a chair beside the table, too tall for her, really, and she means to only stay there a few minutes. She means to go back to bed, sleep in her actual warm sheets, leave the hot chocolate here or at least put it in the sink, but--

Before she knows it, she's zoning out the rumbling thunder in the distance, her half-empty mug slipping from her hands, and it's daylight, a stain and a broken glass at her feet and her blanket crumpled to the floor. Isabelle picks it up and cleans the stain as best she can, and says nothing about it to anyone, even her mom or dad, who are back by the evening.

  


*

  


Isabelle Lightwood is twelve and Jace Wayland has been with them for four years, and he is Alec's _parabatai_. Isabelle doesn't know much about _parabatai_ bonds but she does know that you can't date or fall in love with your _parabatai_ , which is going to turn out bad for the looks Alec keeps giving Jace. Jace doesn't know, that much is clear, and Isabelle's heart breaks for her brother, who's trying _so hard_ to be what everyone wants but hurting himself by keeping his feelings to himself.

It is not hard for a Shadowhunter to do that, but Isabelle can tell it's killing Alec a little day by day.

Isabelle walks the halls alone, cringing at the thunder somewhere outside the Institute. A flash of lightning glows bright against the windows around her and Isabelle holds herself high, keeps her head tilted up and her jaw set. She can't let something so little affect her, but she feels the tremor in her fingertips, and it's a long walk to the kitchen from here. She should be sleeping, really--

And she turns a corner and walks right into Jace, whose eyes are wide, pupils pinpricks, and whose hair is slicked back with sweat, fist pressed against the wall. “Are you all right?” Isabelle asks, frowning. She likes Jace-- of course, she has to, with him being her adoptive brother, in a way, but she's skittish around him even after the years he's been here.

Jace startles at the sound of her voice, his face paler than she's ever seen it. “Oh-- hey, Izzy,” he says, offering up a cautious grin and backing up. He rubs his hands together, giving a low whistle. His tank top, chest drenched with a dark spot that has to be sweat, hangs loose around his sides, and Isabelle's breath catches at the small stain of red across his palm when he holds it up. “I just couldn't sleep,” he says, faltering halfway.

Isabelle has never seen Jace break. She knows his father was murdered in front of him, and he seems put together for that-- too much so--

But now, in front of her, the mask falls and smashes against the tiled floors, and Jace gives a wheezing breath, shoulders sinking. His hand drops, slipping behind his back as if to hide the blood there. “I'm sorry,” he chokes out. “Please don't-- don't tell anyone. Especially not Maryse. Or Alec, oh my god, don't tell Alec, he'd--” His voice breaks, and Jace might not love Alec back in the way Alec cares for him, but Isabelle knows he _does_ love Alec.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Isabelle asks. Jace looks up at her, chewing his lip-- he's seemingly unable to answer, vocally at least, but the answer is clear in his eyes, the deer-in-headlights look he's giving her. “Okay. I won't tell anyone, but you have to clean that up-- show me what you did. What happened?”

“I,” Jace starts, and he shakes his head, dragging his bloodless fingers through his already slick hair. He edges back towards his bedroom and opens the door, checks around them (it's midnight, really, so no one should be awake), and ushers Isabelle in. His room is dark and still, his nightside lamp not even on, and Isabelle doesn't look around, keeps her eyes on his face. “I just-- had a nightmare. About my dad. And he was so-- I mean, I try not to think about the day he died, it's torture, you know, having to replay--” Jace swallows, his throat bobbing, and he seems even more worked up than he had been when Isabelle had first found him.

“It's okay,” she soothes. She peels Jace's hand away, sees the little scars marking his skin, some older. “Is all this...” She can't finish the thought, her mouth dry.

“No,” Jace assures her. He looks to the ground before he adds, “Some of it's from training, some just old.” There's a star-shaped scar on his shoulder, and Isabelle frowns at it, the faded lines that mark the skin there. Jace prods at it when he catches her looking. “This one's from when I was really young, Dad said. I don't remember ever getting it, but I don't remember a lot of others.”

“So you just have all of these scars?” Jace nods, chewing on his lip again, and Isabelle just shrugs. A lot of older Shadowhunters have disfigured faces and scars marking every inch of their bodies-- it's something normal, to her, and she hardly blinks at the idea of him not knowing where half his scars come from. “Where did you hurt yourself? With what?”

Jace gives a shaky breath. He tips out his palm to her, and there's a scrape oozing blood in the dead center, one that Isabelle winces at the sight of. “I used one of the kitchen blades. You know, the mundie ones-- I don't know why they're even there, we can use runes or whatever to cut food, but they cut faster than I thought.”

“Okay.” Isabelle has taken to carrying her stele with her at all times, and so she peels it out of the pocket of her sleep pants, tracing the swirling lines of a healing rune onto Jace's palm. He hisses, clutching at her shoulder as she does, and Isabelle can't bring herself to look up to the lines of pain on his face so she keeps her gaze on his palm, the wound healing up but the blood remaining. “You might have to use a washcloth or something to clean that up.”

She'd almost forgotten about the rainstorm, but a particularly loud clap of thunder sounds just then, and she jumps, jerking and squeezing Jace's wrist tight enough to make him yelp. He frowns at her, not seeming to know why she'd jumped, and his face clears at her expression, her eyes darting from side to side of the dark room.

“You're afraid of thunder?”

“I--” Isabelle shakes her head, her messy braid coming undone across her shoulders. Jace's hand remains on her shoulder even when she's not burning a rune into his hand, his fingers tightening. “Yeah. Okay. Usually I just make hot chocolate or something, wait until it's gone, but-- and yes, I know that I'm a Shadowhunter.” She blinks, harsh, against the tears that begin to form-- she's already losing her head in front of Jace, so what's one further embarrassment?

Jace's eyes aren't condescending as she expects, and his touch turns light and comforting across her shoulders. “It doesn't rain a lot in Idris, but when it does, damn does it rain.” He laughs, small and put-on, but it makes Isabelle's stance relax a bit. “So I didn't talk to Dad about it, because I knew he'd tell me that it was _just thunder_ , but sometimes I'd count the beats of thunder. And that was how far away they are.” His gaze is soft on hers, and Isabelle manages a smile. “I used to be scared of it, too, but now it's just another thing I've had to adjust to.”

“Thank you,” Isabelle says, numb in her jaw. She doesn't flinch at the next rumble of thunder, even when Jace's fingers slip off her shoulder. “If you want me to stay, or clean up the blood--”

“I think I'll be fine.” Jace shakes his head at her, and adjusts the thin sleeves of his shirt, sliding one over the star on his shoulder. “Thank you, though. I've never told anyone about the nightmares. Or the...” He trails off, curling his fingers into a fist over the closed scrape on his palm. “You know.”

“Not even Mom?” Isabelle frowns and brushes her hair back, the braid more than a little undone by now. “You should tell someone, Jace. That-- that can't be too good for you.”

“It isn't,” Jace says, and it's a begrudging acceptance-- an admittance, almost, and his eyes turn hard, like he can't believe he's talking about this with someone. “And it hurts like hell, but for a second, it almost feels like a relief to just-- slice open my palm. I'll try to stop doing it as much, though.” He looks at his palm, biting the inside of his cheek. “It's not going to help anything, and it isn't going to change the fact that Dad is gone.”

“That's--” Isabelle studies him, what she can see of his face in the dim lighting. She heads back towards the door. “That's good. Night, Jace,” she adds, creaking the door open, blinking hard at the sliver of light that floods in.

“Goodnight, Izzy,” Jace says.

  


*

  


Isabelle Lightwood is nineteen and she is happier than she's ever been in her life.

Fact: The formula for Isabelle Lightwood's approximate happiness is her brothers's added to her girlfriend's. She can't be happy if her brothers and girlfriend aren't. Of course, now she's perfectly happy wrapped in Clary's arms as rain pours down outside. For once, she doesn't flinch at the thunder, just presses more into Clary and shivers even under the weight of several blankets.

Clary laughs, high and right into Isabelle's ear. “You okay?” she asks despite this, her tone laced with concern.

Isabelle finds her hand in the spread of the sheets, thumbs over the Lightwood ring she'd swapped for Isabelle's Lightwood one, worn and tucked away in some side drawer. She hadn't even looked at it or thought about it since she was a kid until Clary asked, nervous, having heard about a ring thing from Jace. (Of course she had.) “You're here,” Isabelle says, which isn't an answer, but it is and it makes Clary's cheeks glow.

“I love you,” says Clary, quiet. It's not the first time she's said it but she always acts like it is, and she leans back a little, tightening her fingers in Isabelle's.

“Love you, too,” says Isabelle, and then, “Goodnight, Clary.”

Clary is already asleep, and Isabelle listens to the pouring of the rain and the grumbling of the thunder for a few moments before she dips out of consciousness herself.

**Author's Note:**

> im on [tumblr](http://npdsolo.tumblr.com/) :v


End file.
